On Christmas Eve, God spreads out in the temple, for the archbishop, the naves are literally overflowing, to the point that the doors can hardly close; and, although there are no stoves, it is so hot that the old white snakes in the graves of the memorable clergymen awaken and climb up the vents from the vaults, gently stretching their heads over the balustrades of the confessional boxes.
Thus was the cathedral on that evening; overflowing with God. And although he knew that it was not his place, Don Valentino lingered all too gladly to prepare the bishop’s prie-dieu. Never mind trees, turkeys and sparkling wine. Now here was a Christmas Eve. But amidst these reflections, he heard knocking at a door. “Who knocks at the cathedral doors“ Don Valentino asked himself “on a Christmas Eve? Have they not prayed enough yet? What has got into them now?” In spite of these thoughts, he went to open the door and with a gust of wind there entered a poor man in rags.
“How much God!” he exclaimed smiling and looking about him – “How beautiful! You can even feel it from outside.